


Magic Mike

by adaycertain



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaycertain/pseuds/adaycertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some images Harvey Spector can easily forget – a croissant, a misshapen bowtie, Louis Litt’ bald spot. But there are some, a very exclusive few, which he can not ever get out of his mind – his first million, his favorite scotch, Mike in a stripclub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Mike

**Author's Note:**

> Title adapted from, and prompted by, the movie Magic Mike.

**Harvey Spector**

Harvey should really stop smiling at random times in the day. Donna has taken to glaring daggers at him, and this new and unfamiliar curve on his lips, sometimes escalating into a chuckle, is bordering on unprofessional. So he really should stop.

One time, in the middle of a client meeting, someone said “handcuffs” and Harvey choked on his coffee. Beside him, Jessica gave a suspicious side-way glance and cleared her throat.

Another time, Ray suggested a new gentleman’s club he heard down the chauffeur rumor mill. Harvey burst out laughing, and continued laughing, until tears were effectively leaking from his eyes. Ray gave him a worried look from the rear view mirror.

So yes, Harvey really should stop.

But you see, he can’t. There are some images Harvey Spector can easily forget – a croissant, a misshapen bowtie, Louis Litt’ bald spot. But there are some, a very exclusive few, which he can **_not_** ever get out of his mind – his first million, his favorite scotch, Mike in a stripclub.

To be precise, because Law is a precise endeavor: Mike in a star-spangled G-string and a baseball cap.

**Mike Ross**

Mike can live through many things – high school and Trevor, dropping out, even Grammy’s death. But that morning as he walked the short distance between the entrance of the bullpen to his cubicle, he figured the catcalls and jeers from the “boys” will be the end of him.

A whistle came from behind him, and Kyle Durant came strutting down Mike’s cubicle flashing several hundred-dollar bills.

“How ‘bout a lapdance, Magic Mike?”

“How ‘bout I shove my fist down your ass, Durant,” Mike snapped. 

“Ooh, you’d like that, Ross?”

Mike was standing on eye level with Kyle, ready to bash Kyle’s head on any wall, when Louis Litt entered the bullpen and stood between the two associates.

“Am I going to play school teacher?,” Louis almost spat.

“Because I’d hate to beat you with a rod, although Mr. Ross here would certainly enjoy that.”

“Is that what you asked your wife to do with you, Louis?” Harvey quipped as he strode past the associates who all turned to look at him.

Harvey turned to Kyle, “Do you need something?” Kyle opened his mouth to answer, before being cut short with “That wasn’t a question.”

Harvey turned to his associate and gave him a pile of brown folders. “Due today,” he said as he looked at Mike in the eye and turned to Louis.

“Why are you still here?” Harvey asked Louis and his bald spot.

“Harvey, it shouldn’t surprise you to know that all _this_ …” Louis said while gesturing with his fingers “… _ **is**_ my kingdom.”

“The only kingdom suited for you, Louis, is Toy Kingdom.”

Mike snorted at this, and both senior partners looked at him.

“Get to work, Cherry Vanilla,” Louis seethed as he turned to walk away.

“Haha. Louis. That’s very funny.” Mike’s voice trailed.

“Shut up.” Harvey snapped at Mike as he walked away from the cubicle to what was undoubtedly a better use of his time.

 

**Harvey Spector;**

It shouldn’t bother him this much, and in fact it doesn’t. Mike lost his bet with the associates fair and square, and it was his cross to bear. But his own amusement aside, Mike’s performance at an associate’s bridal shower was not dotting stars on Harvey’s impeccable professional image. He'd have to have to talk to _Cherry Vanilla._ Harvey coughed. To Mike, he meant. Yes, he’d have to talk to Mike. 

Another one of those smiles that Harvey is working too damn hard to suppress in public crept up on his face. 

Harvey wasn’t planning on going to the bridal shower at the strip club. In fact he was there only to drag Mike out before his associate came through with his end of the bet. Harvey had only learned on Friday afternoon that Mike, with all his genius and eidetic memory, lost a bet with the associates that even Louis’ left foot can win. 

Donna then came barreling to Harvey’s office that evening before leaving the office, suppressing a mad giggle before collapsing into a giant mass of red hair and laughter. 

“Should I excuse myself?” Harvey asked not looking up from the files he was reading. 

Donna breathed in between giggling so hard her whole porcelain face was tinted red. “You know what happens to bridal showers, Harvey?” 

“Well I’ve never been a bride,” Harvey answered, still not looking up. He had an ominous feeling where the conversation is going. 

“You’d want to be, if Mike was your male stripper.” Donna’s voice cracked at the last word and cackled continuously for whole of the next five minutes. 

Harvey didn’t act surprised although his whole body was anything but. He sorted through the onslaught of impulses that hit him like a wall without warning: indignation, a mad urge to drag Mike out and cover him in blanket, irritation, amusement, curiosity, and something else that had absolutely no place in Harvey’s elaborately-coiffed hair and personal sense of order: an itch to see Mike in all stripper-glory. 

When Donna’s guffaws had died down to a respectable giggle, Harvey stood and straightened his suit. 

“Leave the lights on your way out,” Harvey commented as he calmly walked out of his office. 

“Wait, where are you going?,” Donna called out in mirth as she wiped the corner of her eyes. 

****Mike Ross** **

Mike was never one to back off from bets nor was he the type to flake out on his commitments. So Mike found himself shaving his legs in the dressing room of a stripclub, nodding in rapt attention as another male stripper (who had a British accent) was giving him instructions on how to grind and thrust. 

A red-faced Rachel came by the dressing room to wish him luck while Mike scrambled to find a robe that can reasonably cover his body. Mike thought her sweet. That is, before Rachel collapsed in giggles and Mike had to usher her out before she rips his last shreds of poise. 

He hasn’t told Harvey, and he figured it better to face Harvey’s wrath _ex post facto_. Still, Mike found himself peeping at the show curtains from the edges of the stage to see if the familiar suit was anywhere in the crowd. There were mostly women, some of whom Mike recognized as associates or legal assistants in Pearson Hardman, including Rachel. It was an exclusive stripclub, but Mike can't help thinking that Harvey won’t be caught dead in a club like this. 

****Harvey Spector** **

Harvey was on autopilot. He dialed Ray’s number instinctively and gave the address of the strip club. Ray looked at him funny but didn’t ask. He could feel his fingers twitching, and he gripped them on his knees to steady himself. Harvey didn’t have eidetic memory. His intelligence consisted of his precise powers of observations and skillful legal maneuvering. But on that ride to the strip club, he discovered that among his many gifts was a painfully vivid imagination – one that features a certain blond in a G-string. 

Everything okay, Sir?,” Ray asked, a light smile painted on his face. 

Harvey didn’t answer. It wasn’t so much the situation, Harvey thought. It was the image of Mike that Harvey was contending with. You see, this is Harvey’s current problem: How can he, Harvey Spector, look straight at Mike in a G-string, drape a respectable cover over him, and firmly drag him out of the strip club? 

Harvey rolled his eyes, because there was nothing _respectable_ or _straight_ at how he was sure to look at Mike, and he might have to ask Ray to drag him (Harvey) out of that strip club. 

When they finally arrived, Ray stepped out to open the door for Harvey. Harvey straightened up and buttoned his suit. 

Harvey has gone to several battles, fought many wars, conquered many lands in and out of the court room. He has faced tyrants and tycoons, kings of countries and industries, dined with a good many from Forbes Richest 100. He has seen many strange things, has done some that are even stranger, but nothing prepared him for what he saw. 

****Mike Ross** **

The British stripper was on stage, bathed in spotlight, speaking into – more like, romancing – a microphone hanging from the ceiling. He was wearing a police hat, gun holster, and what could possibly be leather pants in a past life. 

He was enthusiastically waving his arms and shaking his ass in a manner that made Mike swallow. The crowd was warmed up enough, laughing at select points during the introduction, and soon they were chanting “Mike Mike Mike.” 

“Ladies! Without further ado…Our main delight for the evening!” he boomed with a voice barely heard over the crowd. _“Your very own….Maaaaaagic Mike!”_

The lights changed, and the chorus of _Everyday I’m Shuffling_ boomed through the speakers deafening and startling Mike at the same time. He staggered on stage after being unceremoniously shoved by the British man-whore. He could barely see anyone: Rachel, Donna, and he glimpsed at what could be a suit. But before he can be sure, British man-whore was shouting: _“Move your hips!”_ and Mike’s hips began to circle. 

The ladies were shrieking by the time Mike went into full swing. He took off his suit and button-down whites, but left his necktie on. He was taking his time removing his pants, inch by inch revealing his star-spangled g-string. He’s put on a baseball cap and was now moving in what can best be described as reckless abandon and Mike was surprised to realize that he was actually having fun. 

He crouched down to touch the hands of the ladies and jumped off the stage to give the first lap dance (but not last – we’ll get to that) of his life. His hips were moving with a life of its own, and the girl – Mike can’t remember who – was laughing with genuine mirth. The surrounding ladies produced a couple of hundred dollar bills and slipped it down Mike’s boxers. He went back up on stage when the song was near its end, and in a stroke of showmanship, he threw his baseball cap to the crowd. 

His legs were shaking and his breath was coming in gasps when he exited the stage. Mike staggered to the dressing room, almost tripping on his pants as he hurriedly put it on with nimble fingers. Had he looked up, he could have noticed Harvey waiting down the hallway, in front of the dressing room door, with a face perfected from years of playing poker. 

When Mike finally looked up, the first thing he could think of saying was, “This isn’t your suit.” 

****Harvey Spector** **

Harvey heard a British voice call out “Maaaaaaaaaagic Mike!” like a cannon being fired, and he knew that that it was beyond that point where war can be averted. All Harvey could do was watch and collect his spoils. 

After Mike’s performance –and Harvey had to admit, the kid can perform – he snaked his way to the back dressing room and waited for Mike. 

“This isn’t your suit,” Mike started. 

“Are you fully dressed now?” Harvey asked, still wearing his poker face. 

“I can explain,” Mike breathed. 

“Shut up.” 

Harvey started walking, and Mike followed down the hall, out the back door, and into Ray’s town car. Mike was starting to sulk after his third _“Harvey!”_ was left unanswered. Harvey was resolutely ignoring his associate, not intent on starting a conversation which he had no idea how to control. So Harvey kept silent, and Mike got the message. 

It wasn’t a long drive from the strip club to Mike’s apartment, and when Ray finally stopped in front of the building, Mike looked like he was going to say something but thought it better to just exit the car without saying anything. He stood by the entrance of his building until the car disappeared, leaving him confused and utterly at a loss. 

Harvey went straight home that night. He really should be seething with indignation, should be thinking of legitimate reasons to feed Mike off to Louis for the next six months, should be fuming mad at his idiot-of-an-associate. But all Harvey could feel was amusement. He was past the initial shock at Mike’s boldness, and now he was almost feeling fond and desirous. If Harvey will ever be asked if he went to sleep that night with thoughts of a shaven and almost-naked Mike Ross, he will plead the fifth. The least Harvey can say is this: he had a pleasant night’s sleep. 

****Mike Ross** **

The next Monday, Mike sequestered himself in a corner of the file room with his highlighter and energy drink, finishing the due diligence work Harvey handed to him that morning. He had a 5:00 PM deadline to beat. Harvey had barely spoken to him, and Mike was sure as anything that he was inches away from being fired. He didn’t want to tempt the gods, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to bicker with mere mortals. But he figured he needed to speak to Harvey, if only to clear the air. 

So an hour later, Mike gathered up the documents into their folders and took the elevator up to the Partners’ floor. 

Harvey didn’t look up as Mike knocked on his glass door, brandishing the brown folders. The truth is, those case files weren’t due for at least a month, but Harvey wanted to be thorough. Besides, he needed to have an excuse to walk down the bullpen when he checked on Mike. 

Mike sat at the couch and appeared as though waiting for Harvey to acknowledge him. He cleared his throat, and croaked: “You know, I could be a very effective ninja-assassin.” 

“’Pretty sure assassins don’t wear the American flag on their underpants,” Harvey quipped, still not looking up. 

“You’d never know.” Mike answered, his cheeks reddening. “…because you’d be too busy _dying._ ” He enunciated the last word. 

“I assume you’re here for something?” Harvey asked, a smile starting to curve on his lips. 

“I know it was stupid.” Mike started. 

“Really? I didn't notice.” Harvey's voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“Harvey, I don’t know what you’re mad about! The next joke will come along, and the whole office will forget about it! You won’t even get dragged into it,” Mike burst, his hands flailing in the air. 

Harvey stood up and walked the length of his table to where Mike was sitting. 

“You don’t get it. You’re a reflection of me, and your little exploit…you think Jessica’s going to think you’re a bastion of good judgment?" 

“Jessica wasn’t there.” 

“But I was. And that’s your defense? Jessica’s not there?” 

“Wait wait, you saw it?" 

Harvey didn’t answer, just pursed his lips and walked away to face the window. 

Mike couldn’t help but smile. Harvey Spector saw him gyrating and grinding and jettison all semblance of professionalism, but all Mike Ross can feel was the thrill that run up his spine and the vague sense of sweet triumph. 

He walked towards Harvey and stood beside him facing the window which framed the Manhattan skyline. 

When Harvey finally spoke, his voice was calm and low. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” 

“I know. But I won, though.” 

“What are you talking about? You lost." 

Mike shook his head. “I made a bet that you’d come to watch.” 

Harvey turned to face his associate, his face contorted into a puzzle. 

“It’s not a bet if you bet with yourself,” Harvey quizzed. 

“I was betting with _**your**_ better judgment,” Mike grinned. “And **_I won._** ”

Mike took a few steps forward and his blue eyes stared at Harvey’s.

“That means…I can do this.” Mike leaned forward and kissed Harvey with what is probably the shortest, most chaste but most desire-laden kiss in history.

“…and I know your sensibilities won’t be offended,” Mike breathed.

When Harvey finally spoke, it was with an indulgent smile that he has given up trying to hold back. “’Think I can sign Magic Mike an exclusive contract?”

Mike returned the smile ten fold. His cheeks were red and his heart was beating a dance in his chest. "I thought you'd never ask." Mike smiled, and finally sealed the deal with a second kiss.


End file.
